Of the people we wished to study, Phelps caught our eyes the first.  Dejected, crushed, utterly discouraged, he was slouched down in a chair just at the edge of the supposed banquet hall.  I had no doubt of the nature of his thoughts.  There was probably only the most perfunctory sympathy for the stricken director.  Without question his mind ran to dollars.  The dollar-angle to this tragedy was that the death of Werner was simply another step in the wrecking of Manton Pictures.  Kennedy, I saw, hardly gave him a passing glance.

Manton we observed near the door.  With the possible exception of Millard he seemed about the least concerned.  The two, scenario writer and producer, had counterfeited the melodrama of life so often in their productions that even the second sinister chapter in this film mystery failed to penetrate their sang-froid.  Inwardly they may have felt as deeply as any of the rest, but both maintained their outward composure.

On Manton’s shoulders was the responsibility for the picture.  I could see that he was nervous, irritable; yet, as various employees approached for their instructions in this emergency he never lost his grasp of affairs.  In the vibrant quiet of this studio chamber, still under the shadow of tragedy, we witnessed as cold-blooded a bit of business generalship as has ever come to my knowledge.  We overheard, because Manton’s voice carried across to us in the stillness.

“Kauf!” The name I remembered as that of the technical, or art, director under Werner, responsible for the sets of “The Black Terror.”

“Yes, Mr. Manton!” Kauf was a slim, stoop-shouldered man, gray, and a dynamo of energy in a quiet, subservient way.  He ran to Manton’s side.

“Remember once telling me you wanted to become a director, that you wanted to make pictures for me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You are familiar with the script of ‘The Black Terror,’ aren’t you?  You know the people and how they work and you have sets lined up.  How would you like to finish the direction?”

“But—­but—­” To the credit of the little man he dabbed at his eyes.  I guess he had been fond of his immediate superior.  “Mr.—­ Mr. Werner is d-dead—­” he stammered.

“Of course!” Manton’s voice rose slightly.  “If Werner wasn’t dead I wouldn’t need another director at a moment’s notice.  Some one has to complete ‘The Black Terror.’  We have all these people on salary, and all the studio expense, and the release date’s settled, so that we can’t stop.  It’s your chance, Kauf!  Do you want it?”

“Y-yes, sir!”

“Good!  I’ll double your salary, including all this week.  Now can you finish this banquet set to-night, while you have the people—­s”

“To-night!” Kauf’s eyes went wide, then he started to flush.

“Well, to-morrow, then!  We simply can’t lay off a day, Kauf!”

“All—­all right, sir!”

It seemed to me that everyone in the place sensed the horror of this.  Literally, actually, Werner’s body could not be cold.  Even the police, the medical examiner, had not had sufficient time to make the trip out for their investigation.  Yet the director’s successor had been appointed and told to hurry the production.